


black on white, crow in snow

by batyatoon



Series: three lonely blackbirds [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, F/F, Huddling For Warmth, Injury, Love Confessions, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:55:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batyatoon/pseuds/batyatoon
Summary: Trapped in an icy cave, Cassandra Pentaghast and Inquisitor Adaar have nothing to do but talk. This may have been a mistake.
Relationships: Female Adaar/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: three lonely blackbirds [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651258
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32
Collections: Purimgifts 2020





	black on white, crow in snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).



> This work is set at more or less any time during the Skyhold portion of the game.
> 
> The title is from the poem "Absolutes" by Gustave Keyser.

The Emprise is locked in snow and ice, cold even by daylight. When night falls it’s going to be bitter, and even the winter gear you’ve both got on won’t do much against it. And you have nothing to start a fire with, and none of the mages here to call any. And -- the last and worst fact, the one that turns the others from inconveniences to facets of a disaster -- your injured leg still won’t hold you long enough to make it from one side of this chilly cave to the other, even with Cassandra’s support.

Bottom line, as Varric might say: it doesn’t look good.

“There’s still a good chance they’ll find us before dark,” Cassandra says doggedly, huddled close to your side against the chill, under both her armored coat and your own.

“If they don’t,” you say, “you know what you have to do.”

The scar on her cheek ripples as her jaw tightens. “I am not going to leave you alone here.”

“Look, there’s no sense in _both_ of us freezing to death --”

“This whole situation is my responsibility,” Cassandra snaps. “I should have insisted we take a larger party to search the caves in the first place. If I leave you here, anything could find you before I get back -- wolves, a great bear, Red Templars --”

“I’ve got my bow, and plenty of arrows. I can hold off attackers, but Cassandra, I _can’t hold off the cold._ Not from either of us.”

She turns her face away, sharply; it looks like a flinch.

You lower your voice, carefully. “Listen, if you leave now you can make it to camp before sunset, and lead a bigger party back for me. I’ll be fine.”

Her gaze snaps back to you, and her voice rises. “I am _not leaving you_ , Most Holy --”

The words hang in midair as she cuts off, staring up into your face in what looks like horror, the color draining from her cheeks and then rushing back in a scarlet flood. “Inquisitor,” she corrects herself, muffled and mortified, and looks away again.

The two realizations hit too close together to recover in between, like a barrage of energy bolts from an enemy mage. _You were in love with the Divine Justinia,_ comes the first, and then immediately after --

_Oh._

_Oh, no._

Cassandra has evidently come to the same realizations, or to the awareness that you have, or both. She's pulled away as far as she can within the limit of your shared coats, and looks like she’s wishing for the floor of this cave to open up and drop her into an even more inaccessible pocket in the stone, where she might never have to look you in the face again.

“Cassandra,” you start, awkwardly, with no idea how to continue the sentence.

“Let us not speak of it,” she grates, her face still averted.

You let out a long breath, a ribbon of white smoke in the cold. “I think we might have to.”

“What do you wish me to say?” Her voice is crushed flat, utterly expressionless. “That I harbor inappropriate feelings for you? And have for others as well? All that would be left after that would be to submit my resignation when we return to Skyhold.”

“What? No.” Shock sharpens your voice rather more than you like, and you consciously lower it again. “Cassandra, it’s not -- there’s nothing wrong with that. At all.”

She stares at you disbelievingly. “How can you say that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Look, I care about you. A lot. And you’re strong, and beautiful, and loyal --”

The disbelief in her face scales up, strong enough to approach horror. “That -- no. You are _not_ telling me that, that you … that’s not _possible._ ”

“What, that someone could want to be with you? That _I_ could?” You shift under the layered coats, trying to face her more directly. “If you’ve wanted to be more than friends all this time --”

Cassandra makes a noise of frustration and dismay, and her shoulders slump. “Of course I have wanted to,” she says raggedly, “since we found you again after Haven, but we _can’t,_ you are my _commanding officer,_ it wouldn’t -- it wouldn’t be right --”

“You _made_ me your commanding officer, remember? Hell, I was your prisoner when we first met.”

Her lip curls in momentary disgust. “ _That_ would not have been right either.”

“Okay, see, there I agree with you, but how is _this_ wrong?” You spread your hands in exasperation, as though to lay the situation before her. “If we both want to, and we’re not hurting anybody --”

“How is it not obvious?” The look on her face is less disbelief and more plain bewilderment now. “There are rules for a _reason,_ we can’t just … it would not be appropriate.”

“Appropriate,” you repeat, blankly.

She looks away again, and says in a small voice: “Does that sound foolish?"

"Not _foolish,_ ” you say, “but … Remember you told me once that you see what must be done and you do it? Except sometimes it isn't that simple? Remember how sometimes you're sure ... and you're still wrong?"

Cassandra puts her face in her hands, visibly struggling.

"Cassandra," consciously softer, "there was a _huge fucking hole_ in the _sky._ And we _closed_ it. I think there’s a rule that you get to throw out at least _some_ of the old ideas about what’s ‘appropriate’ when you do that."

Her response sounds like coughing at first, then like sobbing, and you have a moment of alarm before it resolves into helpless, cracking laughter. Slowly, she leans into you and lets her head fall against your chest, and seems to melt as all the tension seeps out of her.

“Are we all right?” you ask, gently, after a moment.

“I think so,” she whispers, “but -- oh, _Maker,_ ” and she starts laughing again.

“What?”

“Maker help me,” she -- _giggles,_ actually giggles -- “if Varric finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

* * *


End file.
